


Alternative Uses for the Homeless Network

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Humor, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is taking his sweet time with this "confessing your love" business.  Sherlock reasons that the best way to speed the process along is to hire a homeless guy to pretend to be his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Uses for the Homeless Network

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[翻译] 流浪汉网络的妙用](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175687) by [fisafisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fisafisa/pseuds/fisafisa)



Sherlock had a problem, and he didn't really know exactly how to solve it, but he was a genius and he was pretty confident that he'd come up with something, given just a little more time.  The problem was, John wasn't making a move on him.  John had (finally!) come out to him as bisexual nearly two months ago, and since then they'd had exactly three Moments.  Sherlock knew that John liked him.  And Sherlock, quite frankly, was madly and ridiculously in love with John.  However, John had never been with a man, and Sherlock was starting to think that John wasn’t making a move on him because John thought Sherlock didn't date, and that if he did he would be a horrible boyfriend.

Eventually, Sherlock had A Plan.  It was a great plan, definitely going to work.  Accordingly, he went out one night and struck a deal with one of his homeless network, one of the not-diseased ones, who had been not-homeless for a majority of his life and still knew how to act classy.  He'd cleaned the man up, dressed him up respectably, given him 100 pounds and a mobile phone, and told him to come by the flat the following night.

John sat on the sofa, actively suppressing a sigh. He was having Sherlock problems. Not that Sherlock was a problem, except he was. He was a huge, brilliant, clever, amazingly attractive problem. John had to fight to keep his eyes off him at all times, when really all he wanted to do was stare, shove Sherlock against a wall, and maul him. But Sherlock didn't date, so Sherlock wouldn't be interested, so Sherlock was a Problem.

Sherlock was sitting across from John, waiting.  His "date" was to arrive shortly, and then The Plan could begin.  The Plan that was destined to work, because John and Sherlock were clearly meant to fall in love and date and have sex and get married and have babies and... Sherlock may have been obsessing a little.  Whatever.  The Plan was beginning soon.  So, when the doorbell rang, he leapt to his feet with a big grin and flew to their door.  Mrs. Hudson was in on The Plan, so she'd let his date in to their door to maximize the effect.  "John!" Sherlock said cheerfully in greeting when he opened their door.  He grabbed the homeless man, Frank, by the shirt, and pulled him in for a long, long kiss.

John looked up from his book, took in the scene, and stared.

Sherlock was still kissing Frank.

John scowled. It was okay, because Sherlock as still kissing the strange random man.

Eventually, Sherlock got tired of kissing Frank, so he seized him by the hand and dragged him forward.  "John," he said to the man in the room whose name was actually John, "This is... well, his name is also John."  He looked at Frank.  "John, meet John, my flatmate, blogger, and dearest friend."

John just looked at this...John guy.

Sherlock looked at Frank but spoke to John.  "He's a doctor too.  You two will definitely get along.  Flatmate-John, I met boyfriend-John at Bart's, too!"

Frank turned to John.  "Nice to meet you," he said politely.

John fought back a scowl. "And you."

"Sherlock talks about you all the time," Frank added graciously.  "I'm just here to take him out, we won't be in your hair for very long."

"Nonsense!" Sherlock said cheerfully.  "Come, sit down."  He led Frank to the kitchen and sat him down, kissed his cheek.  "I'll make you tea before we go."

John's scowl returned. Sherlock never made him tea.

Sherlock doted on Frank for a solid twenty minutes, petting him and kissing him chastely and bringing him things.

John's hold on the book tightened until it was lucky he wasn't ripping the pages.

Sherlock noticed, so he decided to lay it on a bit thicker.  He sat on the table near where Frank sat at a kitchen chair, holding his free hand and playing with his fingers, gazing at him, being a huge pile of goo.  "Can we go?" he asked hopefully.

A page ripped slightly.

Frank, following instruction, kissed Sherlock's fingers and nodded.  They left without even a wave to John.

John growled at the closed door and tossed the book down on the coffee table.

* * *

 

They returned late that night, about the time John usually started to think about bed, so tangled up in each other's arms and lips that it was a bit difficult to tell what belonged to who.

John, who was on the sofa with tea now, watched them for a while. Neither of them seemed to notice. "Sitting here," he announced loudly.

Frank accidentally broke character for a second by looking, as the poor man wasn't even gay and was very uninterested in the intense snog, but Sherlock ignored John completely.  He also, however, did not linger in the doorway, simply walking them into his bedroom and closing the door.  The moment the door was closed, Frank and Sherlock both took a large step back from each other.  Sherlock nodded.  Frank grinned.

John stalked to the kitchen to dispose of his tea.

Sherlock giggled loudly from his bedroom.

Why did Sherlock like him? _He_ was a doctor, and they'd met in the same place. What made him so special? John wasn't sure if he was more angry or upset by it.

Sherlock threw himself back-first onto his bed.  Frank was leaning on the wall texting on his new phone.  Sherlock giggled again.  " _Again_ , John?"

John glared at the sink and stalked up to his room, closing the door forcefully.

Sherlock heard this, knew it would happen, and knew it only meant he'd have to get louder.  To start with, though, he let out a long, low moan.

Was that...? John at least had the decency to be quiet if he brought someone home, or _warn his flatmate._

Sherlock gestured at Frank, and Frank sat down forcefully on the bed and grunted.

"Yes, do it, John..."

And he was saying his name, but it wasn't _his_ name, it was _his_. John sat on his bed moodily.

Sherlock was quiet for a few beats.  Frank was stifling laughs with his hand.  There were worse ways to make money than getting two people together by having fake sex.  After what he deemed an appropriate time, Sherlock bounced a little on the bed, evenly and not too much.  "Yes..."

John fell back on the bed, scowling at the ceiling.

He kept up the steady, slight bounce.  " _God_ John... yes, harder, please... please, fuck me, _please_ , John you're so..."

Frank moaned Sherlock's name, answering a text.

What was so great about him? He thought Sherlock didn't date. He hadn't even known Sherlock knew someone...

Sherlock cried out and Frank took a good minute to gush in a loud, desperate voice about how beautiful Sherlock was like this, "with my cock inside you," how he'd never had anyone better, he'd never known it could even _be_ this good, and how had no one ever seen how amazing Sherlock was, before him?  Sherlock kept up a steady chant of John's name, in fake ecstasy.

John couldn't decide if he was more angry about how awkward and rude this was, or upset that Sherlock wanted someone else.

With a mighty final bounce, Sherlock and Frank 'came,' crying out each other's names.  Then Sherlock nodded, gave Frank a thumbs-up, and gestured at the bed with his head.  This had also been part of the deal.  Sherlock sat on the floor with his laptop, and Frank gratefully slept in a bed for the first time in two years.  Like this, they passed the night.

John tossed and turned, eventually managing to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Sherlock woke Frank up the next morning at about the time John usually got up.  Frank stripped, as per the plan.  Sherlock gave Frank his bath robe, told him to wait, then strode out of the bedroom in the buff.  He 'jumped' when he saw John and hurried back into his bedroom.  He returned bearing a bed sheet wrapped around himself, and his 'lover.'  "Sorry about that," he said distractedly, gazing at Frank but speaking to John.  "Didn't know you'd be up."

John didn't even have a chance to appreciate the view, as he was so distracted by Sherlock's...date.

Sherlock cooked for him, kissed him, took him back to the room.

John fought the urge to scream and went out for breakfast.

Once John left, Sherlock sent Frank home (or, well, sent him away), thanking him and paying him.

John stayed out for quite a while.

Waiting for John to return, Sherlock lazed about on the sofa in only his pajama bottoms.

John eventually returned to find Sherlock alone (thank god) sitting around, shirtless.

Sherlock smiled vaguely at him when he came in, then went back to gazing at nothing.

John really shouldn't yell at him. He should really walk away and pretend this was normal. "You could have warned me."

Or not.

Sherlock looked over at him.  "Hm?"

"Me. You could have warned me." Looked like a confrontation was happening, then.

"About what?"

"About, him."

"Who?  John?"  He looked back at the real John.

"Yes. Him."

"How so?"

"I always warn you before I bring someone home," he snapped.

Sherlock leaned back, as if surprised.  "I... I'm sorry."

"I mean, I didn't even know you were dating," John said.

Sherlock opened his mouth, looking at him wide-eyed.  "I thought..."

"Thought what?" he asked.

"I thought having him over before the date and introducing you... I thought that was..."

"I mean, I suppose..." John forced back a frustrated sigh. "But you knew him."

"What?"

"You _knew_ him."

"I don't understand..."

"You seemed to really...care for him."

This was going so dang well that Sherlock didn't even know how to handle it.  He looked down at his hands, which were clasped.  "I don't know..." he said to his hands.  "I guess it's just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know.  I don't love him or anything.  I suppose it's just been a long time and it's nice to have someone to..." he gestured meaninglessly, "I guess, show affection to.  Spoil.  Who actually likes it."

John just watched him for a moment. Sherlock had seemed happy. And just because he hadn't known Sherlock dated didn't mean he could get mad at him for it. "Right. Sure. I just didn't know you...dated, at all."

"Not often," Sherlock admitted.  "It's been a long time."  He laid it on a bit thicker.  "Sometimes it's just nice."

"Must be a special guy then," John said eventually.

"No, not really," Sherlock mumbled, just loud enough for John to hear.

"He seemed it."

"He's okay.  He's nice.  He's not special, though.  I'll have to break it off soon, I guess, because I think he loves me.  It's been nice to have someone to dote on but I'd never fall in love with someone so..." he shrugged.  "Not special."

John took in Sherlock. His brilliant, slightly mad, flatmate. If Sherlock had seemed so happy before, he couldn't imagine how Sherlock would be if he was in love. And Sherlock spoke as if he was searching for it. Searching for someone special. "Well, I hope you do. Find someone special." Because as much as it would hurt once he did, Sherlock did deserve to be happy.

Oh for the love of- Sherlock looked directly into John's eyes.  Just stared.  And kept looking, long after it was awkward.

Why was Sherlock just staring at him like that?

Sherlock kept pointedly staring.

"What?" he asked finally.

"Someone who is special," Sherlock repeated.

"Someone?" he asked slowly.

Sherlock stared even more pointedly, if such a thing was possible.

"Like...who?"

Sherlock made an exasperated sound and stared harder.

Sherlock couldn't mean...?

Sherlock grabbed the newspaper that was on the coffee table, took a few pages, crumpled them up, and flung them at John's face.

John swept at them. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock crumpled up another page and flung it too.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock got six more, crumpled each one up, and flung them one at a time at John, using them to punctuate, "I- am- in- love- with- YOU- moron!"

John just stared at him for a while. "What?"

Sherlock stood up, took the rest of the newspaper, went up to John, pulled his collar forward, and stuffed the newspaper down his shirt.  Then he sulked to the kitchen.

John shook the paper out and followed. "Wait, what?"

Sherlock huffed and crankily made tea.

"You love me?" he asked.

Sherlock shot him a glare and then kept making tea.

"But, you said you were looking for someone special," he said, dazed.

Sherlock threw up his hands and stomped to the sitting room again.

John followed behind. "Wait, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed at him.

"Sherlock, just, _wait_."

"You," Sherlock waved his hands at him, "are impossible.  We could have been together for weeks by now but _no_ I was trying to protect your delicate sense of order and decency by letting _you_ ask _me_ but you _refuse_ to take anything resembling a hint and now I've gone and done it!"

"Done it."

"Yes, told you I love you, after _trying and trying_ to get you to say it first so you could feel all heterosexual or masculine or whatever your hang-up is, but you were being _so stupid_ that _I had to do it_ and now I might as well have just done it weeks ago!" he continued to complain.

"You really do love me, then?" he asked.

He stared at him in disbelief, threw up his hands yet again, and stomped back to the kitchen.

John, yet again, followed. "Would you just stay still?"

Sherlock spun around, crossed his arms, and glared.

"You don't get to be angry with me for not reading your mind," John said.

"I'm not angry, I'm irritated," he complained further.  "John, really?  I met some other doctor named John in Bart's who actually liked me and I brought him home and _shouted his name_ in bed?  _Really_?"

"Well people shout names in bed all the time," John defended.

"Yes, and which is more likely?  That I happened to find this startlingly similar man, or I hired someone to come here and pretend to fuck me to make you jealous!"

"I don't honestly know," John said.

"Considering that it's _me_?"

"I didn't know," he repeated.

"I hired a homeless man," Sherlock informed him.  "His name is Frank, he's not even gay.  And I paid him to come here so I could be nice to him and affectionate and demonstrate to you that I'm capable of it."

John blinked. "Really?"

" _Years_ ago I said I wasn't looking for a relationship and everyone holds me to that even now," Sherlock ranted.  "Aren't people allowed to change their minds anymore?"

"But you never _said_."

"Because I'm not _looking for someone_ I just want _you_ ," he ranted.

"Just me."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and rubbed his temples.

"Sherlock." He stepped forwards. "Just me."

"Yes, thank you, that's what I said!"

John leaned forward, grabbed Sherlock by the shirt, and dragged him in for a kiss.

Sherlock clamped onto John's face with his hands and kissed him back, furiously, pressing close and kissing him deeply.

John had no intention of stopping.

Sherlock knocked John's hand away from between them so that he could press in the rest of the way and wrap his arms around John properly.

John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock, pulling him in.

Sherlock kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, loving it because it was finally right, finally what he wanted.

John held on tighter, never wanting to let go, because Sherlock loved _him_ , wanted _him_ , and that was just amazing.

"You," Sherlock said between kisses, "have been driving me to distraction, and it's infuriating.  Knowing that you want me.  You not acting upon it.  Ghastly."

"You're always walking around being perfect," he said, barely stopping the kissing to finish his sentence.

"And this somehow prevented you from throwing me into a wall and having me?" he demanded before diving into the kissing again.

" _Yes_." Now, though, he did push Sherlock back into a wall. "Because you were too perfect."

" _Stupid_.  You _idiot_.  I've gotten nothing done for a _month_ because of you."  He continued to maul him.

"You could have done something," John complained.

"I hired a hobo!"

"A month ago!"

"You like making the first move!"

"You should have just done it!"

"The hobo slept in my bed all night!"

"Done it!"

"You should have been less of an idiot and done it yourself!"

"You're obnoxious!" He kissed him again.

"If you were any more of an idiot, you would struggle to breathe!"  Sherlock's fingers dug into John's back.

"Nice thing to say to the person you love," John snapped, pressing Sherlock back harder.

"I'm in love with an idiot and idiots must be corrected."  He kissed him bruisingly.

"I can't believe I love such an arse," he growled, kissing him yet again.

Sherlock bit down on John's lip.  "I can't believe you're dumb enough to think I didn't want you.  To _miss it_."

"How was I to know?" He pressed in closer to Sherlock's body.

"I. Hired. A. Homeless guy."

"You could have just confessed!" He pressed even closer.

Sherlock was pressed hard against the wall and he loved it.  He arched against John, purposely nudging John with his developing erection.  "You _see_ but as ever you entirely fail to _observe_!"

John nudged back. "And you fail to act when normally you won't shut up!"

Sherlock dug his fingers into John's back, harder, more fingernail this time.  "You'd never been with a man, you only know how to 'be the man' so I was giving you the opportunity no _wonder_ you haven't managed to get a wife you're _horrible_ at it!"

"Hey," he snapped. "I am amazing at this."

"At making the first move?  Obviously you aren't!"

"You are the most annoying..."

"Then for the love of God why don't you shut me up?!"

John kissed him hard and did just that.

"Still talking," Sherlock growled between nearly violent kisses.

John growled and pressed his lips to Sherlock's more insistently.

"Better," he managed to get out around the tight, insistent press of John's lips.

John pinned him to the wall and didn't stop.

He tried to speak, then, and couldn't, so instead he moaned appreciatively and dug his fingers into John's back.

John's hands lowered and settled on Sherlock's hips, squeezing.

Because he couldn't move much else, Sherlock dug his nails in deeper.  John groaned against Sherlock's lips, hands slipping under Sherlock's shirt.  Sherlock nodded hurriedly, pushing John back so that he'd have more room to take it off.  John quickly tugged at Sherlock's shirt, eventually managing to pull it off and tossing it over his shoulder.  Sherlock hissed his appreciation of this and pawed at John's shirt as well.  "Skin," he demanded.

"Well take it," John snapped.

He needed no further prompting.  He ripped John's jumper off over his head and groaned at all the buttons that lay before him.  John gave him a look and waited, going for Sherlock's neck as he did.  "Why do you have to... so many _buttons_ ," he complained, fumbling with them, trying them blind because John's teeth at his neck forced him to throw his head back.

John didn't let up in the slightest.

"No more button-ups," he ordered, though his voice did not convey a commanding tone.  "Not allowed."

John hummed against his neck. "Hurry up."

He cursed, faltered, considered popping them.

John continued to nip at his neck.

Sherlock tugged, fingers already not working, _already_ , and it had barely been five minutes.

John did not offer to help at all.

"John," he nearly sobbed.  He put his hand on John's forehead and pushed him back for just long enough that he could take a deep breath and quickly undo the last buttons, all before John could make it back to him.

Once Sherlock had pushed him away, John simply stood back.

Sherlock was an opportunist.  He used this opportunity to attack John's zipper.  John was not at all unhappy about this. He pressed closer to Sherlock's fingers.  Feel John's thickening cock against his hand as he undid John's button and zipper made Sherlock groan, low, and he rubbed John through his pants, far too lightly.  John sucked in air, hard, and pressed closer, needing more of Sherlock's touch.

"Yes, yes, come here," Sherlock said, pulling John into him and resuming the bruising kisses, continuing to stroke John through his pants, but harder.

John moaned against Sherlock's lips, pressing close and jerking into Sherlock's hand.  Sherlock bit down, slipping his hand into John's pants and squeezing his cock, not too hard but not gently either.  John cried out, at such a simple touch, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock to keep him close.

" _Please_ say you're going to fuck me right now and this isn't just hand jobs," Sherlock panted into John's lips.

"Want to fuck you," he moaned. "Now."

Sherlock let go of John's cock to take John's hand and move it to his zipper.  "Then hurry up."

John complained at the loss of contact, but went for Sherlock's zipper quickly.  Sherlock huffed in satisfaction when his pants and his trousers met the floor, and he stepped clumsily out of them, kissing John's shoulders as he balanced there to do so.  He nudged John's off as well, then wrapped his arms around John's hips and yanked John into him, their bare cocks slotting together.

John groaned, giving a small thrust against Sherlock to get a bit of friction.  Sherlock moaned loudly, not holding anything back, and forced John closer to him, jerking his hips up as well.  "You are _so_..."

" _You're_ so..." He didn't know what he was saying, because Sherlock's breath was on him, and his skin, and his _cock_ , God.

Sherlock didn't know what he was saying, either, so it didn't matter how John responded as long as he never, ever stopped.  He pushed forward and into John, hands sliding down to his ass and squeezing the cheeks, forcing John to stay close.  It felt amazing, and Sherlock told him so between consuming kisses.  It was perfect, it felt so good, but Sherlock needed more of him.

"God, don't stop touching me," John commanded.

Sherlock snorted out a laugh, head hitting the wall fairly hard because of a particularly good thrust, not even feeling it with all the chemicals in his brain.

"Want you. _Now_."

Somehow Sherlock had attained the manliest human being on Earth, and his entire body gave a shudder at the gravel and command and want in John's voice.  "Do it."

"Don't have anything."

"So what?" he panted.

John lifted his fingers to Sherlock's mouth.

"And, I'm clean, so."  Sherlock took them instantly, soaking them and making sure the use of his tongue was very suggestive.

John dropped his head to Sherlock's shoulder, hips jerking because Sherlock was really, really good with his mouth.

"That's for you too," he panted when John finally removed them.  "Later."

"Later?" he asked.

"Yes, later, I'll swallow you whole.  But right now you're fucking me, remember?"

"My cock could use something," John suggested.

Sherlock sighed and dropped quickly to his knees, seizing John's hips and immediately taking John nearly all the way in, making it wet.  It was a horrible taste and feeling, but it was John.  For the first time he didn't actively dislike it.

John's legs nearly gave out from the abrupt feeling. He braced himself on the wall to keep standing.

Sherlock came back up, probably more quickly than John wanted but Sherlock did not intend to waste any time down there when he had other intentions for John's cock.  When he popped back up, he discovered that he was caged in by John's arms.  He liked it and growled, low, before slamming his mouth onto John's with every intention of eating him.

John fell into Sherlock, shamelessly grinding against Sherlock as they kissed.

Kissing John felt exactly like how kissing John should feel.  There was not a split second when Sherlock forgot who he was kissing.  It tasted like tea and home and how John smelled, and it was unrelenting, just like John.  Frenzied and rough, yes, but still constant and single-minded.  John.  He twisted his fingers into John's hair for a change of pace.

John growled his approval and let his hand lower, shifting Sherlock around until he could brush his finger along his entrance.

To show his approval, Sherlock kissed him harder, more teeth than anything else.

John quickly worked the first finger in, not stopping the kissing.

It wasn't easy or comfortable, and Sherlock really hadn't done this in a while.  He spread his legs and angled himself, trying to make it logistically possible with their height difference.

John moved on to the second finger fairly quickly.

He winced but absolutely no part of him wanted to slow it down.  He wanted John _now_.

"Alright?" he asked, noticing.

"Yes, perfect, fuck me, please fuck me..."

John kissed him hard, and lifted Sherlock's leg, tugging at him. "Up."

He obeyed automatically, as John's voice left no room for outside thought.  But a vague sort of disbelief did go through his mind.  Did John think he was going to be...?

John nudged at his other leg.

Sherlock turned his face to break the onslaught of kisses, to meet John's eyes blankly.  "What?"

"Up."

He tried to put his other leg down and lift that one instead.

"Both. Up," he insisted.

John wanted to fuck him against a wall.  And not just against a wall but... _against a wall_.  Up, properly.  Sherlock discovered in that very moment that he had a favourite position, and they hadn't even done it yet.  He let out a gasping noise as he lifted up, leg cradled immediately by John, and found himself with his back pressing hard into the wall, and John's arms around his waist, tight enough to hold him.  He clenched his legs around John for added security, though he could barely think straight enough to do that.  "Do you really think you can...?"

John shifted around until his cock was pressed against Sherlock's entrance. He met his eyes.

The nudge there, knowing it was _John_ (violently aware that it was John, as John was holding him completely and if he faltered Sherlock would fall), scattered his mind even more.  No one had ever done this to him, not quite so thoroughly, and it was only their first time together.  He forced his brain to keep moving for the moment, though, because he simply had to say, "Do you have any idea how much I weigh-"

John nudged his way inside, just a bit.

Sherlock gasped, feeling the tip of the head of John's cock start to break the barrier of Sherlock's muscles.  John didn't even seem to be struggling.  Sherlock was skinny but he was tall and long and he wasn't light, he knew this.  But John was just holding him up like it was no big deal, not even blinking, and Sherlock was so hard it was painful.  He ran his hands over John's forearms, arms, shoulders, lats, finding them all as hard as iron from the exertion.  "Your shoulder," was Sherlock's last coherent statement, because his entire body was screaming at him to shut up because what if John changed his mind??

John pressed in farther. "Can manage. Don't think it will take long."

Sherlock didn't know what John was talking about, but it didn't seem to be mindless yelling so it was incorrect.  "More," Sherlock pleaded, unable to participate because he didn't yet understand the logistics of this.

John obeyed, pressing in the rest of the way with one hard thrust.

It split him open, and it hurt, but it was so perfect that Sherlock's mouth dropped open and no sound came out.  Yet again, he clunked his head on the wall behind him, hands scrabbling for more of John, digging in.

John's arms on Sherlock tightened as he pulled back then thrust back in.

Sherlock felt safe, completely and utterly safe even though he was in the air and being dropped would hurt, so instead of worrying he clutched onto John and opened up his stream of consciousness.  "So strong, I didn't know you...  Why didn't you tell me you could... this is... _oh_ , how do I..."

John grunted and pulled back, then back in, slowly at first, then starting a rhythm.

Sherlock groaned at the feeling of John moving inside him.  John.  Inside him.  Until recently he'd never have thought it was possible.  And until moments ago he wouldn't have known that he would, moments later, be having the hottest sex of his life.  Every time John withdrew, Sherlock clenched around him, unable to bear down against him, and every time John pushed back in Sherlock relaxed, wanting him deeper, harder.  "Faster," he whispered, hands scrambling for a place to go and settling on the back of John's neck.

Sherlock felt so good around him, against him. John tried to oblige, moving slightly quicker and pressing in. "You're...fuck."

"Want you," Sherlock groaned, pressed against every inch of John like he'd wanted to be for ages.  He didn't know of a way they could be closer.  Everything was hot and damp and a touch slippery.  "Want you so much, don't stop..."

"Never." He gave a particularly hard thrust. "Trying to...but I can't change the angle."

The hard thrust was good, so good.  Sherlock keened.  "It can't be better, can't, just don't stop, want you as deep as... as deep as possible considering we're..."

John's hands on Sherlock tightened and he pushed in as hard as he could.

Sherlock cursed loudly and curled up over John, trying not to spasm as much as he wanted to.  "Fuck, yes, so, so good, please, keep going, split me open..."

So John did it, again and again, getting lost in the feeling of having Sherlock all around him. "Fuck, you're perfect, perfect."

Now John was praising him, and it made Sherlock feel pleased and proud and warm and- " _Oh fuck there yes please_!"

Their bodies were damp with sweat. John pressed in as close as he could, head resting against Sherlock as he thrust up, over and over.

Sherlock didn't know how this was possible.  How John could be holding him up, how John could be so deep inside him, how John had still managed to find his prostate, how he was absolutely pounding it, every time, how _any_ of it was possible, so he simply clung to him, trying not to twist too much, crying out every time John gave another perfect thrust.  "It did, it got better," he informed him, utterly lost.

John kissed whatever bit of skin his head was resting on. "Amazing, amazing. You." He didn't have the ability to think, just feel, feel Sherlock everywhere. And the sounds he was making...

"This is the best thing... best in my entire life, best thing I've felt, you, sweat, your _cock_..."  When John leaned in to kiss Sherlock's chest, John's body pinned Sherlock's cock and the upward thrusts caused it to be pressed between their bodies.  He groaned luxuriously.  "I'm gonna..."

"Come," John told him. "For me."

John thrust up hard one more time and their damp bodies stroked Sherlock's cock just right and he came hard, clinging to John and crying out and losing all track of time and space as he chanted John's name.

John thrust several more times into Sherlock as he came, listening to his sounds, his name, his name coming from _Sherlock_. He cried Sherlock's name and pressed all the way in, not moving as the orgasm went through him.

The final press in grazed his prostate yet again and Sherlock moaned, low, and clenched around him to keep him as he came, just in case John had any ideas about pulling out.

John didn't, and stayed perfectly still, trying to suck in air. It was only then that he realized his arms were shaking slightly.

Sherlock noticed too.  Breathing heavily, he stayed still, holding John tightly, not sure.

John didn't move for a bit, loving the feeling of having Sherlock all around him. But his arms were shaking more, and starting to ache, so he knew he was going to have to put Sherlock down before they gave out.

He didn't know how to get down, and he really didn't want to, but he trusted John to manage it.  He pulled his head back just enough to kiss him softly.

John kissed him back gently, then pulled back. "Have to put you down."

He nodded, being carefully lowered.  When his feet met the floor, his legs seemed to have forgotten, for a moment, how to hold him, and he leaned against the wall trying to remember, pulling John back to him to kiss him again.

John would have held him up, but now that he'd put Sherlock down he knew his arms wouldn't support him again. Instead he leaned into Sherlock and kissed him.

Sherlock kept him close and upright.  The kiss was slow and tender.  Warm.  He wrapped his arms firmly around John and kept it going.

John closed his eyes and stayed close.

Eventually, Sherlock pulled back, just a bit.  "I love you," he said simply and sincerely.

"Love you too."

"You're.  Very strong."

John smiled a bit. "Thanks."

"You just," Sherlock went on, possibly gushing slightly, "I'm not light, and you just held me and you even did all the work, I don't know how you could do that..."

 John kissed him lightly.

"You're so manly," Sherlock blurted.

John laughed. "What?"

"You're just.  You're strong and confident and alarmingly good at sex and just.  Manly."

 John smiled at him. "Well, being good means being tired. Can we lay down?"

They were, conveniently, only a few feet from Sherlock's bedroom, so Sherlock brought them over there, settling John in and then wrapping himself all around him, in bed.

John hummed and nuzzled in, eyes closing again. "S'nice."

"You could start sleeping here," Sherlock offered quietly.

"Mhm," he agreed easily.

Sherlock smiled, pleased, and cuddled in closer.  "And we could date."

"Mhm."

"And have obscene amounts of sex."

"Yes, that."

"And, hold hands."

John nodded.

"And."  He couldn't think of anything else, so he simply nuzzled into the sleepy John.

"Blowjob," John reminded him sleepily.

"Careful," Sherlock said, closing his eyes and his voice turning smug.  "After the first time, you'll never be able to see me lick my lips without getting hard."

"That good are you?"

" _Oh_ yes."

"Want."

"Hm, I don't put out on a first date," Sherlock said distantly, cuddling closer.

"But did."

Sherlock rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  "Sleep, my love."

"You're awake."

"But you're really not.  And you earned it."

"But awake."

"If you sleep, I'll sleep too," Sherlock bargained.

John considered this.

Sherlock waited.

"Maybe."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and kissed John's cheek.  John was going to sleep in his room.  On purpose.

"You'll have to make my tea," John said, cuddling in.

"What?"

"Make tea."

"Right now?" he asked, appalled.

"No no, later."

"Oh."  Good.  "Why?"

"Arms won't be able to lift kettle."

"Worth it."

"Mhm."

"We should do that every year on our anniversary," Sherlock said, not hearing his own words until they were out of his mouth.

John smiled and nodded.

Inside, Sherlock glowed, just a little.  "So you want there to be a next year."

John hummed.

"I... do too."

John hummed again, more distantly.

Sherlock had seen John fall asleep, before.  Just never from the angle of having him in his arms.  It was much better this way.  "Love you," he said quietly, soothingly.

John blinked an eye open. "Love you."

He prodded him gently with his nose.  "Talk to you in the morning."

"Talk now," he said, though his eyes closed.

"Mhm."

"Talking."

"Yes."

John curled up closer.

Sherlock held him.

"Might sleep."

"If you do," he offered, "I'll wake you up with the blowjob I promised."

"Blowjob," John agreed sleepily.

Sherlock smiled, and kissed John's forehead, and felt him fall asleep.  He followed quickly after.

 


End file.
